Things Carried, Things Left Behind
by The.Mad.Shadow
Summary: Life is just baggage you carry until you find someone who can share the load with you. Sanvers, emotions, and one-shots, oh my! (Cross-posted on AO3)
1. Bittersweet Graduate

**AN:** Saw a prompt and just _had_ to write something. Edited because I like my version.

 _Margaret Ellen Sawyer_.

When they call her name, she walks across the stage, looking directly at the principal and nowhere else. She doesn't wait for the photographer, doesn't strike a pose to be memorialized for years to come. It's graduation day – the most momentous occasion in her life to this point – and all she wants to do is get as far away from the event as possible. She had thought it would be okay, knowing that _they_ wouldn't come to make a scene. But instead, the empty chairs that she knows are there only serve as a slap in the face, a reminder of everything she has lost.

She feels like an alien, sitting among all of the white, smiling faces, hearts and minds filled to the brim with happiness at the possibilities life presented. If only she could hold a fraction of that, then maybe, just for a little while, it would be better. But she can't, not here. Not in this auditorium, not in Blue Springs, not surrounded by families who loved and cared for their children. Each successive name and corresponding cheer jabs at her heart, twisting the knife just a little deeper, until she's numb. She's grateful as she feels it wash over her, taking away the pain. And if no one sees the single tear tracking its way down her face? All the better.

 _Margaret Ellen Sawyer_.

The words boom out across the space, filling her at once with equal parts pride and dread. _This_ was what she had worked for. The late nights, the early mornings, the hours spent pouring over books and research in a vain attempt to squeeze just a little more out of herself to achieve perfection. She hears the cheers in response – few though they were – from the friends she has made here, the little haven that she had carved out from the cruelty of reality. It's easier this time. She allows a moment of emotion, allows herself to look straight at the camera as the dean congratulates her. Because nothing, not even the people who were supposed to love her most turning their backs on her, is going to take away from this.

So she lets herself relax around the families, lets herself partake in their joy. The black gown and the cap throwing and the shifting of the tassel: she's got it all down. She takes photo, and has them taken of her, and she just _is_. She accepts congratulations and congratulates in return. The numbness is there, and the hole in the pit of her stomach, but today everything is bearable. And, later, much later, when it isn't, she finds that she can drown everything in alcohol. Because, after all, any good scientist knows that _it's a solution_!

 _Margaret Ellen Sawyer_.

Graduation from the Academy is a group affair, and she's never been happier to be a member of a herd. Except that she's the honor recruit, so they have to call her up, single her out as the shining example of what every recruit should strive to be. Only, she isn't. Police officers are meant to fix things, and the only thing she can seem to fix is herself. Lately, she hasn't even been doing a good job of that. It had been stupid to invite them, but she had thought – no, hoped – that after all this time they could see it in themselves to be there and support her. She should have known better.

The angry letter had come only a few days ago, reminding her that they wanted no part in her life. That she was a wayward soul who could never be loved as long as she carried on her wanton path of destruction. That she was damaged goods. Which was how she found herself here, hungover with the eyes of three hundred people looking to her to deliver something profound. All she could do was stare straight ahead and babble some nonsense about serve and protect, taking care not to look at the seats that had been marked reserved specifically for her.

At least the pounding in her head drowned out her thoughts. It was hard to feel sorry for yourself when all of your energy is expended on making your smile reach your eyes and your back stay straight. When her colleagues introduce her to their families, she doesn't try to reciprocate. And when they raise their eyebrows, she redirects them, jokes with them, asks them about their kids or their lives. So no one questions it, and she goes on through the day until she collapses in her bed.

 _Margaret Ellen Sawyer_.

The Deputy Commissioner barely has time to get the words out before the cheers erupt. She's encompassed in a sea of officers, decked out in their finest blues, and all she wants to do is find the source. The person in the room she knows with absolute certainty is there for _her_. Because despite everything her parents have said to her, she _can_ be loved. The new family that she's made for herself proves that, and they never let her forget it.

When the ceremony is over, she finds her way to the back, picking up several pats on the back along the way. The chief of the Science Division, the Extranormal Affairs Liaison, her partner. All of them want to congratulate her on a promotion well earned. She stops and talks for a moment, just enough time to exchange platitudes and give her thanks, until each notices how eager she is to move on. Because there, standing in a corner, is the only person she has ever needed to cheer her on.

Their lips meet, and she swears that nothing has ever been as amazing as this kiss. No matter the heartache she has come to associate with her success, the let downs, or the wasted time spent trying to reconcile herself to something that will never change. Today, here, in this moment, everything else is forgotten.

"Congratulations, Sergeant Detective Margaret Ellen Sawyer."

Her name has never sounded so sweet as from the mouth of Alex Danvers, and damn, if she isn't going to spend the rest of her life listening for it.


	2. Lizzy

**AN:** inspired by the story of Dale and the 8 lesbians in the window, as seen in this screenshot /Czu2VQt

TW: Homophobia

The summer air hung limp and laden on her shoulders, a promise of rain to come soon. Inside, fans circled, straining to create even the slightest of breezes and leaving behind an incessant background hum. Sunset was approaching, and with it would come the lower temperatures of evening and night that she had so desperately craved. She glanced at her watch again, though it had scarcely been two minutes since her last check, and signaled to the waitress that she would need another bottle of water. Where the hell was Alex?

No sooner had the waitress returned than the woman in question arrived, clad in her usual black-on-black ensemble. Maggie felt her heart stumble and restart as she took in the breathtaking woman before her. Seeing Alex – confident, cool, beautiful Alex – would never get old, of that she was certain.

"Sorry I'm late, babe," the sentence was interrupted as Maggie reached up and pulled Alex down to her for a kiss, the world slipping away as they greeted each other. Work had conspired to have them on alternating schedules for the week, and she was hungry for her woman.

A noise behind them made her break away, and she felt Alex move to go sit down.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" The blonde at the next table had turned to her boyfriend and begun making loud conversation while shooting pointed looks at Maggie and Alex.

"What is?" Amazing how two little words could set off a firestorm.

" _That_. _Them_. _Kissing_. It's not _normal_ , Dale," the blonde began to whine, clearly needing to convince the man that she was in the right.

"Lizzy, they're happy, they're expressing it. I don't see what isn't normal about it. After all, don't you like me kissing you?" He slowly took a sip from his drink.

Maggie eyed Alex, who had white-knuckle gripped the table, and placed one hand on top of hers. This was still new to Alex, this world. Maggie had been through this before, and though she found it upsetting, she needed to worry about getting Alex through this in one piece before she could let herself process. Alex shot her a look of gratitude and anger, and something she couldn't quite place. Remorse maybe?

"How can you say that, Dale? There are children around. What if one of those women decides to hit on me?" The blonde's voice jumped an octave as she finished, as though she genuinely feared that she was in danger.

"Fat chance of that. I'd say they're too in love with each other to notice other women, let alone someone like _you_."

"Well, I'm not comfortable with it." She retorted petulantly.

"Well, you don't have to eat here, so it shouldn't be a problem. In fact," the man said, standing, "I don't want you to eat here with me."

"But this is our spot! We love this restaurant! We should be able to eat in peace."

"Let me correct myself: _I_ will be eating here, because _I_ love this restaurant. _You_ will not be eating here with me, or anywhere else for that matter."

"What?"

"You heard me, Lizzy. It's over." And with that, Dale grabbed a menu and began to make his dinner decision.

"No."

"I'm sorry?" He looked up at her, barely.

"No. I refuse to believe that you're breaking up with me over _them_."

"Believe it."

"No. NO. No no no no no no no no no." The blonde, Lizzy, began to stomp her feet, screaming like a toddler at the top of her lungs. Maggie watched as Dale pointedly ignored the woman, every so often shooting apologetic looks towards her and Alex's table.

"You _can't_ do this to me! To ME, Dale. I'm the woman you love, you're supposed to propose to me, to pick my side over other people's!"

"Not when that means agreeing with bigotry."

"You called me a WHAT?!" There went that octave again. Where had the waitress gone? Maggie was hungry, and she needed to get some food into Alex.

"You heard me."

"Fine, you know what? I'm just going to sit here next to you until you leave with me and go somewhere else that caters to _normal_ people." She perched herself on the chair, suddenly very calm and grinning evilly. The man looked at her, then to Maggie, back to her, and then back to Maggie, a smile beginning to spread across his face. As it grew, he pushed back his chair and ambled over to stand beside Alex, holding his hands out in a gesture of _I come in peace_.

"You ladies doing okay this evening?" Maggie nearly laughed at his fake Midwestern drawl.

"It's been… eventful."

"I was wondering if you two could do me a small favor." She felt her eyebrows quirk instinctively, and she knew that Alex was looking at him with just as much incredulity.

"What can we do for you… Dale, is it?"

"Would you please call every lesbian you know?" He gestured back towards the woman he had left at the table, "we're smoking this bitch out!"

And that was the story of how Giordano's got ladies night, Maggie and Alex got free pizza, and Dale got rid of Lizzy.


	3. Tendency

**AN** : More, more, more. I like writing angst. Or anything. You can always prompt me here or on tumblr (twomeerkatsinatrenchcoat)

Maggie has a tendency to do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing. So she steps back, removes emotion from the equation, then speaks. It's a simple equation really, putting in a problem, subtracting her feelings, and outputting a solution. It works. And each time she does it, she feels herself slipping away a little more, shoving down her heart until it's peering up at her from the abyss, bruised and barely beating. So when she tells Alex that she doesn't want to start something with someone fresh off the boat, when she wrestles every instinct in her body shouting at her not to let this wonderful woman in front of her go, she barely flinches. It works, she knows it does. And it's for the better, she knows it is. But here, in her apartment, she's alone, and she can't hide from it any more.

She tries, oh dear lord she tries. Blasting music to drown out her thoughts, and ten-counts until her arms shake, and a shower so cold it makes her hair stand on end. And yet. _Alex_. The name rolls around in her head, working its way slowly through her body, becoming butterflies in her stomach and a warmth in her heart that she can't bear to name. With each new wave of feeling, she feels her chest constrict a fraction more, each breath requiring more effort than the last. If only Alex could see what she has been reduced to, maybe then she'd understand. But Alex can never see. Can never know about any of this. So Maggie begins to piece herself together again, shaping a mask that she'll hold together with tape, and glue, and sheer will if she has to.

It shocks her, at first, how easy it is to hide in plain sight. Emotion is a luxury she does not permit herself, _cannot_ permit herself. Alex seems to take her at her word and backs off. Even if she does slip Maggie looks when she thinks no one is watching. Cold shoulders and avoidance enter into their friendship, and Maggie finds herself reaching out, breaking the small rules that she has set and constantly questioning her decision. Every day she asks, and every day the answer is the same: she's doing the right thing. Alex is vulnerable, and everything is shiny, and Maggie has no desire to dampen that with the darkness that her presence and her past bring. Instead, she offers pizza nights, and beer, and slips the word friend into conversation as often as she can to remind them both that she can care without _caring_.

She thinks it's working, then Alex calls her bluff. Because Alex has never been one to beat around the bush and Alex has learned the hard way that keeping things hidden hurts. So Alex tells her that they're not friends. And, though she's devastated, Maggie thanks a God she's not sure she believes in that her mask holds. No matter how much her mind is reeling, no matter how much she wants to shout at Alex that she wants her. Because she has a tendency to do the wrong thing, but right now, she knows that what she's doing is right. So she walks away.

Right back to the fetal position on her bed. The temptation to call in sick hovers in her thoughts, but she can't find the energy to think of an excuse less pathetic than "feelings." Because admitting that she's lovelorn – that there's this girl she can't get out of her head, and it makes her nauseous just thinking about losing her – would make her pathetic. She forces the mask back on, buries everything deeper than a mobster's body, and picks herself back up. And because she's a glutton for punishment, she goes back to Alex. Because she's Maggie, and she has a tendency to do the wrong thing.

Only now she's not so sure, because suddenly, she finds her mask slipping, finds herself feeling, and Alex's eyes are soft. They reach a happy medium, not exactly okay, but no longer icy.

One pool night turns into two, turns into beers and smiles and that selfsame warmth in her heart. They touch more, laugh more. She can feel herself being drawn in, _allows_ herself to be drawn in. Alex is intoxicating and invigorating, and she feels drunk and alive and free, and happy, happy, happy to be near this woman. And she nearly slips right then and there, nearly opens her mouth and confesses to Alex how badly she lied. But the words stick in her throat, and she forces herself to step back, to forget emotion, put her mask back in place and say goodnight. It's enough to get her out of the door, home, and into bed. She's hurt, Alex is hurt, but at least they're whole.

Until a bullet fires, tearing through her reasoning as its fire cuts through her skin.

Alex. Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex, _Alex_. It's the only word she can think, the only one that she knows for certain she can form. Because it's Alex who stitches her up, and Alex who stays by her side, and Alex who makes sure that she lives to see another day. Maggie isn't whole. She's being made whole. Alex makes her whole.

Her heart is racing as she knocks. This isn't planned. All she knows is that she has to see the woman on the other side. Has to grab onto her and never let her go. She wants to be clever, or sassy, or strong. Or any of the things that Alex claims she can be. Her mind is running, skipping over all but the word that sustains her. She wants to say all of the things she's never been able to say before. She's vulnerable and afraid and about to turn around and run, when the door opens.

The pizza in her hand doesn't fall, but it's a near thing because Alex is gorgeous, and Alex is smiling, and Alex is in pajamas. And she manages to keep her tone even as she says hello, manages to keep her jaw (mostly) from plummeting as she ogles the wonderful person in front of her. Alex, wonderful Alex, has no idea that this is about her. And Maggie, who has a tendency to say the wrong things, and do the wrong things, opens her mouth to say the one thing that she knows is absolutely right.


	4. Christmas Key

**AN** : Based on a prompt I saw. Plus, I always love Christmas. Feel free to prompt away!

Maggie loves Christmas. The chill in the air, and the songs in her ears, and, occasionally, the snow on the ground (though she hasn't seen it happen in years). Even after her father had kicked her out, Christmas had always been a time of hope and celebration, with magic and lights and happiness. She stopped believing in Santa years ago, but never stopped exchanging presents. Truth be told, since she had discovered the existence of aliens, a small part of her has always hoped that somewhere out there existed a group of jolly-cheeked and bearded strangers wearing red garments.

But this year, this year, she _loves_ Christmas, because this year she gets to spend it with Alex Danvers. They visit Eliza in Midvale at Alex's insistence because her mother has been asking to spend more time with them. And, though it would be impractical in their apartments in National City, they pick out a tree together and place it in the living room. They spend hour decorating – Alex systematically placing ornaments and decorations as Maggie festoons the tree with garland and ribbon haphazardly – reveling in the contented ease of it all. They curl up on the sofa, looking out at the ocean as the sun sets, sending its last rays onto the waves to create a splendid tapestry. In that moment, it's all for them.

Alex leans in for a kiss, and their lips touch, their bodies slowly dancing to a lazy rhythm. She can feel her need growing, but she's in no hurry, because they have all the time in the world. The two of them there, existing so purely together, is the greatest Christmas gift she's ever received.

Maggie wakes first, Alex's arm draped across her chest, a blanket half covering their legs, half on the floor. It's still early, with bits of morning light just beginning to stream in, and she gently slides herself off the couch. Alex stirs slightly, and she freezes, looking for any sign of wakefulness. None come. Softly, she grabs her car keys, slips her shoes on, and pads outside. For such a small package, hiding it in the trunk has been surprisingly difficult. Alex is a naturally suspicious, inquisitive person, especially when presents are involved, and Maggie had been forced to stash the box days ago when Alex had been off at one of her super-secret meetings.

She opens the trunk and pulls up a section of the carpeting, revealing a small compartment. Day to day, she stores first aid equipment and a change of clothes, but it had done well in keeping the box safe. Almost. She removes it carefully and notices that the wrapping paper is torn, the bow knocked askance. She tears it all off, checking that the integrity of the package has not been compromised, and breathes a sigh of relief when she confirms no damage.

Locking the car once more, she heads inside, fiddling with the ribbon she has removed in the hopes that she can restore it to some semblance of its former glory. The woman who had done the wrapping had made it look so simple, and Maggie finds herself cursing silently as trial and error prove fruitless in her task.

Or maybe not so silently.

"Maggie?" Alex's voice is little more than a whisper as she stretches out, hovering on the line between sleep and wakefulness.

"Morning, babe." She bends down and presses a light kiss to Alex's forehead, concealing the box behind her back.

"What're you doing up?" Alex has pushed herself up now, rubbing her eyes to clear the last remnants of her dreams. Her hair is going in a thousand directions, and Maggie tries hard not to laugh as she brings their lips together.

"I've got something for you." She whispers it as she pulls away, feeling the way Alex shivers. It turns her on, knowing the effect she has on this woman, knowing the effect they have on each other. She hands over the box, half-done bow and all, watching as Alex carefully opens it and pulls out what's inside.

A key.

"Oh, Maggie…" Alex's face is a mixture of confusion and happiness, "but I already have the key to your place. It's in-between mine and Kara's on my. I remember, because I had to get a new chain to hold all three of them."

"This is a different key, Alex. My apartment key, that's the key to all of my things. Things that can be bought, and sold, and are transient. This key… this is the key to my heart. Because I want you to have it. Because no one has ever made me want to give it. No one except you"

Alex smiles and pulls Maggie to her, kissing her hard, and Maggie releases a breath she doesn't know she has been holding. Reverently, Alex places the key back in its box and takes Maggie's face in both hands, staring directly into her eyes.

"Thank you." Maggie feels the words reverberate through her, settling into her until they feel as much a part of her as her bones. And, though they aren't ready for it, she knows that one day this is the woman she is going to marry.

"Merry Christmas, Danvers."

"Merry Christmas, Sawyer."


	5. Saturday, I

**AN** : Part 1 of 2. Prompted by Iris on AO3 - _So what if after an accident or something Maggie lost her memory (temporarily of course) and Alex spends a lot of time with her but doesn't tell her she's her wife. And then, Alex gotta go at some conference and go tells Maggie and Maggie is uneasy at the idea of Alex's leaving but tell her goodbye saying "see you around Danvers". While Alex leave Maggie remember it all and run to find her._

I had Ella Eyre's "Deeper" on loop the entire time I wrote this.

It happens on a Saturday, tucked in between the hum of the city and the quiet whistle of the breeze through the curtains. Alex is leaned back against the pillows, a paper on the astrophysiology of some species or another in one hand, the other gently working its way through Maggie's hair. Her glasses have slipped part of the way down her nose, but she doesn't seem to have noticed. Maggie, on the other hand, can't seem to take her eyes away from them, wondering at the look of intense focus hidden behind them. They're tangled together comfortably, legs entwined in a bundle of sheets and blankets, and she's snuggled into Alex's side, sipping a mug of chamomile tea as she watches the incredible woman beside her.

"I love you."

It happens by accident, and then she can't take it back. Doesn't want to take it back. They say it to each other physically, emotionally. They say it every day through respect, and caring, and a thousand different ways that she had never thought possible. But neither has dared to voice the three words aloud. The two of them are guarded and analytical, with secrets and pasts and so many reasons to not want to say the words.

She feels the way Alex tenses, hears how the breath catches in her throat for just a second before she forces herself to be calm. And her heart breaks a little, because no, no, _no_. This is not what she wants. She wants Alex to give it freely, happily, not because she feels the need to reciprocate.

"Maggie…" She reaches up for a kiss, cutting off whatever Alex means to say.

"I love you, okay Alex? You. All of you."

"I just… I need a little time." _That_ Maggie can give her. They have all the time in the world. Because Maggie loves Alex, and needs nothing but the allowance to give her love. So she can give her time.

It happens on a Saturday. One minute, Maggie is crossing the yellow tape to a crime scene, and then next the world shifts sideways and goes black. Alex knows, knows before they even call her, that something is wrong. She hears over the radio of an explosion downtown, and she _knows_ that Maggie is there. Because that's who Maggie is: dedicated, involved, giving. So she knows that the woman who loves her is at the scene before she picks up the phone.

"Hello?" She fights – and loses – to control the shaking in her voice.

"Agent Danvers, this is Detective Morrison. There's been an accident…"

"Where is she?"

By the time Alex arrives at the hospital, she's numb. Kara, J'onn, and several other friends had offered to drive her over, but she had pointedly refused. Because she likes numb, she _needs_ to be numb. Numb is good. Numb means that she can focus, she can see everything she needs to and sign everything she needs to and hear everything she needs to and not fall apart. She needs to be numb and strong for Maggie. Falling apart can come later, when things are okay.

She's forced to wait in the emergency room while the attendant at the desk verifies that she's okay to pass through. Because when she's asked if she's a loved one, she wants to yell yes at the top of her lungs, wants to scream about how much she loves the woman she imagines lying on a bed somewhere, but instead she says that she's Maggie's girlfriend. They won't allow anyone but emergency contacts and next of kin to have information, let alone see patients. So she's standing off to the side, looking up at reruns of Jeopardy, trying to distract herself with the sounds of contestants answering stupidly.

"Miss Danvers." She whirls around, and finds a nurse standing behind her, arm extended. "We can take you to see Miss Sawyer now."

Perhaps it's the kindness of the woman's eyes, or the softness of her movements as she tries to guide Alex to the door. Whatever the trigger, Alex snaps.

"It's Detective."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's Detective Sawyer, not Miss. Not some banged up woman on a bed. _Detective_."

She closes her mouth again, afraid that the next time she opens it, the numbness will melt away, to be replaced by things she'd rather not think about. The nurse says nothing in response, merely shooting Alex a small, sad smile and continuing to guide her until they reach a door marked _Sawyer, M. E_. A doctor in aqua scrubs and a lab coat appears from inside, and Alex can hear the faint sound of at least one, if not two, monitors beeping. Keeping time, keeping Maggie alive.

"Family of Maggie Sawyer?"

"Yes, Doctor. I'm Dr. Danvers. Alex." She doesn't know why she feels the need to introduce herself with her title, but she does, noticing that the man's stance changes slightly. He's no longer dealing with just a loved one, but with an equal, who will understand.

"I'm Dr. Trent. Miss Sawyer's…" A cough from the nurse brings him to a halt, and he glances down at the paperwork handed to him in apparent annoyance. Clearly this is not a man who enjoys being interrupted.

" _Detective_ Sawyer's injuries are not as extensive as we had expected. First and second degree burns on the right side of her torso and right thigh, silver fork fracture of the right arm, perforated eardrum, and several lacerations to the face and both hands that required stitches. But no severe head trauma, no significant changes in ICP. She should be just fine."

Alex wants to believe what she hears with all her heart, wants to feel the joy that should come with knowing that Maggie will be okay. But she's numb. She's numb and the scientist in her knows that she needs to keep asking, needs to keep digging, until she has all of the information. Because she doesn't. She knows she doesn't. The nurse has kind eyes and a soft touch, and the doctor is telling her that things are going to be okay. And though she still has to do basic arithmetic on her fingers, she knows that those two things do not add up

"She should be fine if what, Dr. Trent?"

"She should be fine if her memory returns." And then, as though the doctor himself had held the flame, she melts. She feels, and she's sobbing, and the nurse is helping her to sit in a chair. The walls are closing in, and her throat is constricting, and her heart is beating so fast, she thinks it might burst. Or break.

 _Maggie_. She has to see Maggie. Has to let her know everything. Has to help her remember and come back. So she forces herself to stand and walk into the room, to the bed with a sleeping woman that looks vaguely like hers, only smaller (if that's possible).

"I love you, Maggie. I love you so, so much. And when you wake up, I'll be here to help you remember how much you love me, how much we love each other."


	6. Saturday, II

**AN** : Well, I couldn't let you hang on a cliff forever. Feel free to send me prompt here or on tumblr (twomeerkatsinatrenchcoat)

* * *

It happens on a Saturday. Maggie goes stir crazy after four days, driving her nurses up a wall until, finally (three days later), Dr. Trent caves and releases her. To Alex. Because Maggie is alive but injured, and Maggie is Maggie, and someone needs to watch her, needs to prevent her from opening her stitches. And Alex wants to be the devoted girlfriend, but she can't, and it kills her more to walk away than stay. J'onn puts her on family leave – because Maggie is family to all of them, not just Alex – and she settles for being a devoted friend. A very, _very_ devoted friend.

Morrison picks them up with his car, shooting Alex a knowing look as she helps Maggie into the front seat. Maggie had refused to leave the hospital in a wheelchair, adamant that she be permitted to walk, to exit under her own power with no assistance. Alex admires the strength it takes, and she subconsciously slips into memories of other uses of that strength. Until she realizes and shuts it down. She won't allow herself to think like that right now. If she does, it might just be the thing that kills her.

Because for all that she loves this woman, for all that she knows what they have, they've relapsed to the old holding pattern. No crazy midnight ice cream runs or shared mugs of coffee or bickering over who gets to do the crossword puzzle today. No early morning meetings in bed, pooling their knowledge to solve a case. But at least Maggie knows her, trusts her enough to accept help. Doesn't question that she has an 'emergency' key or why she seems to know where everything is in the apartment when they arrive. Those are good moments. Moments where things are almost the same, except for the cast, and the bruises, and she knows that those will fade away in time.

Those are the moments that she holds on to when the bad ones come. When she offers to help Maggie shower and gets rebuffed, or hears her scream with frustration when she can't fasten her bra properly but tells Alex to stay out in the living room. Because Maggie doesn't remember. So Alex throws herself into doing what she can, stopping by her place every couple of days to pick up her mail and a change of clothing. And Kara stays with Maggie when she does, a silent agreement between them that Maggie will never be left alone.

Sometimes she thinks that things will get better. She catches Maggie staring at her, one hand on her lips, as though grasping at the last remnants of a kiss. And a flash of something crosses her eyes, before it fades away, to be replaced by a look of confusion. Alex has been told that these things take time, that she needs to be patient, and she knows the very real possibility that things may never come back. Or that if they do, Maggie will be subjected to the trauma all over again. But she misses waking up next to this wonderful woman, misses the way they fit together, as though they were built just for each other.

And she feels guilty. Because her friendship with Maggie is strong, and she knows that she should feel satisfied with just that.

It happens on a Saturday. She has a month – a glorious, difficult, trying, rewarding month – before Maggie kicks her out.

"Danvers?" The voice is soft, but the iron behind it matches the resolved look on her face. Maggie's stitches had come out two weeks ago, leaving behind little trace of what had occurred. She was healing.

"Yes?" She glances up from her perch on the couch.

"You need to leave." Alex's mind is reeling, instantly scurrying in a thousand different directions in search of an adequate excuse.

"I don't think –" She manages to keep her voice level, barely containing the sudden dread in the pit of her stomach. Because Maggie doesn't want her here, and Maggie doesn't remember, and if she leaves she'll know once and for all that their love is over.

"You need to go back to work."

"Maggie, no…"

"Yes! You need to go back to work, and stop sitting on my couch watching action movies on my TV, and start saving the world again."

"But you're injured!"

"It's not that I'm not grateful, because I am. And it's not that I don't enjoy your company, because I do. But I'm a big girl, and you have a life to get back to. The world needs you more than I do." Alex can feel her world falling apart all over again. But it's what Maggie wants, and she loves Maggie, so it's what she'll do.

"Okay."

"Okay? Damn, Danvers, I thought I was going to have to twist your arm or something!" Maggie laughs as she holds up her arm still encased in its cast. Alex smiles weakly, knowing that it doesn't reach her eyes.

She doesn't try to grab everything, God knows how much of her stuff has accumulated here, but sticks to the essentials. Just enough to survive. Because she can replace things, but she can't replace Maggie, and she needs to get out of there as quickly as possible. Before she breaks. Before she tells Maggie every single thing she has squirreled away these past weeks, things that Maggie isn't ready to hear. Before she tries to force Maggie to come back to her.

Each step towards the door feels heavier than the last, until her feet are lead, but she's outside, bag slung over her shoulder.

"Bye, Sawyer."

"See you around, Danvers." And the door shuts.

She isn't sure how she makes it home, or through the door. All she knows is that she's on her couch, a bottle of bourbon in her hand. She tossed her bag, jacket and shoes somewhere. She doesn't know where. Doesn't care where. She can't go into her bedroom, doesn't want to imagine what sleeping there is like without Maggie by her side. Because even when she was on Maggie's couch, even when she had to muffle the screams from the nightmares that came, she knew that Maggie was nearby. Now she's gone. Outside, rain splashes against her windows, a fitting soundtrack to her life.

She takes another long sip, feeling the liquor burn as it slides down her throat. Soon everything will be numb, and the pain will be gone. And she won't have to feel it, won't have to think for a while. The alcohol will do that for her. She hears her phone ring behind her, but she ignores it, knowing that it's a well-meaning call from Winn, or James, or J'onn, or Kara. None of them can help her. None of them can take away how raw she is inside, as though someone has run her heart over with a cheese grater.

Lightning flashes outside. She takes a sip.

Her phone rings. She takes a sip.

A knock on the door. She freezes, bottle to her lips, before she sets it down not so gently and walks over. She's fully determined to tell who ever it is to go away, because she needs to be alone. So when she doesn't look through the peephole, when she turns the knob and opens, she's caught slack-jawed. Because there in front of her is a dripping wet, red-eyed Maggie Sawyer.

"Alex." And in that moment, she knows. Because she's Alex, not Danvers, and Maggie is looking at her with _that_ look, and she melts.

"Maggie." They reach for each other, colliding, tasting, touching. She can feel Maggie crying, her whole body rippling as it moves through her.

"I was so stupid."

"No, Maggie, no." She feels herself choke, emotion forming a knot in the base of her throat, making her voice thick.

"We should be who we are, and kiss the girls we want to kiss."

"We do Maggie. We do. We kiss each other. I promise."

"I remember saying that. And I remember wanting to kiss you, and I remember that I love you, Alexandra Danvers."

Alex's heart nearly beats itself out of her chest, and she cradles Maggie's head in her arms and they stand there, riding out wave after wave of everything crashing on them. She bends her head to whisper in Maggie's ear.

"I love you. I'm so in love with you, and I will keep loving you forever and always."


End file.
